


That Time They Met at a Concert

by Eve_Louise (Stregatrek)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, M/M, Teenagers, adorable dorky losers, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-14
Updated: 2014-10-19
Packaged: 2018-02-21 03:23:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2452907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stregatrek/pseuds/Eve_Louise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On separate vacations from separate lives in London, Mycroft and Lestrade meet at a concert they're only attending for their younger siblings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

                Miserable. There just wasn’t another word for it. The concert was miserable. Loud, pounding music (that had begun to give him a headache from the first chord), the crowds of people packing closer and closer as they lost their footing over and over on the slick grass. And now, of course, it was raining. Because it was England.

                Mycroft sighed. _And not even allowed to bring an umbrella. Crowd threat. But these people **deserve** to have their eyes gouged out. By my umbrella points. Vigorously. _

                “Go home, Mycroft!” Sherlock shouted (for the seventh time that evening), appearing at Mycroft’s elbow. His curls were plastered to his face by the rain, just as Mycroft’s were. However, Sherlock did not appear bothered by the inclement weather- likely because he _wanted_ to be there.

                “Go listen to your band, Sherlock,” Mycroft replied at a volume precisely calculated to be audible without being a shout. His twelve-year-old brother would be put out for weeks if he didn’t pay attention to this band- one of very few to venture this far into the countryside, and one of very few he liked. The only reason Sherlock had been allowed to come (on condition that Mycroft go along) was due to hours of younger Holmes pouting and promises from the elder Holmes. Father had given in first, mother shortly after.

                And now Mycroft was here, standing miserably in the driving rain freezing to death and edging further and further away from the others present. They were all around Sherlock’s age, nearly every child between the ages of eleven and fourteen. Most of them had overlong bangs drawn over their eyes, and the rain had made them angry. It was fairly entertaining, though not enough to make up for the awful weather, worse music, and lack of company his own age. Not that those of an age with him were more interesting- but at least he looked as though he belonged with them (if they weren’t interacting in any way).

                “Y’look bored!” An unfamiliar voice shouted over the music. “Here for a little sibling?”

                Turning to look, Mycroft’s eyebrows rose. _Twenty. Elder brother of three. All are here. Rides and fixes motorcycles. Intern at New Scotland Yard. Works part-time in a bakery. On… Knightsbridge. Visiting for the weekend. And perfect. Oh god, perfect._ “Yes!” Mycroft replied, trying not to lean closer even as he felt himself leaning closer. “Where is your charge?”

                “And the front! The girls with the purple hair!”

                “Ah, I see them,” They pointed at nearly the same time, Mycroft mirroring the older man’s gesture only a split second after it was made.

                “Yeah, they’re a handful,” he laughed, running his hand across the back of his short dark hair. It was lovely. “I’m Greg, by the way! Greg Lestrade!” He offered his hand.

                “Mycroft Holmes,” _Don’t faint, you’re only shaking hands._

                “Who’re you here with, then?”

                Tipping his head back to get his sopping hair out of his eyes, Mycroft peered across the crowd. “Ah. There.” He tilted his head toward Gregory as he pointed at Sherlock. “The one with the dark curly hair.”

                “Like yours. Looks nice by the way.”

                Mycroft felt himself blush. _It’s soaking wet, you’re barking mad._ “Thank you. I- er- I like your…” he found himself gesturing broadly at Lestrade and unable to think of anything to say. “Erm. H-how is it interning at New Scotland Yard?”

                Lestrade cocked his head, blinking rain out of his eyes. “Do I know you?” He shouted as the band on stage struck up a new song, equally as fast and loud as the last.

                “I’m sorry. Sorry. No. Um.” Mycroft looked at his feet and back up at Greg, feeling himself blush and hoping it wasn’t visible in the semi-darkness this far from the aggressively bright lights of the stage.

                The dark-haired boy laughed- _oh god he has a nice laugh-_ and clapped Mycroft on the shoulder. “No worries, no worries. So how’d you know?”

                “Your bearing and physique: police- most likely- but your hands and right forearm show hours spent writing, inexperience in the most time-consuming occupation, recent student work, and physical occupation but not always heavy lifting- I’m sorry.” He wished he had a drink to push his face into as a means of hiding his embarrassment.

                “Uh. Wow. Woah, that’s incredible.”

                A slow smile spread across Mycroft’s face. “Thank you.”

                “Yeah, so, what do you do then?” His beautiful dark eyes ranged across Mycroft’s face, making him blush again.

                “I… I intern at a small office in London.”

                Greg’s smile outdid the ludicrous lightshow from the stage, but he had to wait for the guitarist to _just quit already_ before speaking again. “Yeah? And do you work?”

                “Yes. At a… different office.”

                “Bureaucrat, huh?” He chuckled. “That’s cool. So visiting home for a break then?”

                “Yes, one week off. And I agreed to take my brother to a concert. For some reason.” He tried to joke, cracking a smile.

                “Ah. Nice person _and_ a bureaucrat. How do you do it?” Greg smiled back.

                “With a great deal of effort,” Mycroft replied, not dropping his smile. _Of all the places to meet an angel._ “And you have left London for…?” He knew, of course, but kept it to himself. Smalltalk was a gateway and a key both. Mycroft was not a person to ignore something so strategic.

                “Same reason. Got a break, decided to catch up with the family. Thought my sisters might like the show.”

                “And did they dye their hair the same shade for the express purpose of further confusing people, or are they simply the sort of triplets who enjoy doing things together?”

                Gregory laughed, which set Mycroft’s heart to racing the drum beat. “No, it was to confuse people. Although they picked purple ‘cause of all the ‘awareness’ ribbons that are purple- if you ask them, Ginelle says LGBT bullying, Grace says domestic violence, and Gabriella says lupus. Or Orca whale protection, depending on what mood she’s in.” Greg smiled again, lighting up the dismal landscape.

                “Impressive. They’re very aware.” He smiled thinly as Greg began to laugh again. “When do you return to London?”

                “Tomorrow. You?” He stepped closer as the music became- impossibly- louder.

                “Three days. I find I miss the city.”

                He nodded, the motion over-exaggerated and unfairly cute. “Me too. Yeah. At the Yard I see a lot of trouble, but I also see it getting cleaned up. I like that.”

                “You seem like an excellent sort of person, Gregory.”

                The older boy blushed. “Thanks- you seem like a stand-up kinda guy yourself.” He paused for a moment. “So now that we’ve talked for a bit, you mind telling me what ‘offices’ you work in?” Greg smirked cheekily at him, and Mycroft debated telling him it was classified, but decided that this was not the appropriate venue for sarcasm.

                 “Ministry of Foreign Affairs and I intern with MI5- don’t get excited, I’m little more than the coffee boy.”

                “You? No, you’re… Q. In training. Or something. Look at you. And that thing you pulled, knowing all about me? You’re gonna make a great spy. Her Majesty is safe with you,” He smiled rakishly.

                “I’m flattered.” Mycroft flushed.

                “Mycroft.” Sherlock broke in, and Mycroft looked around to realize that people were leaving. “Let’s go.”

                “One moment, Sherlock. This is Gregory.”

                “Hm, yes. Twenty, Londoner, wants to shag you. Disgusting. Let’s go.”

                Mycroft blushed as Greg foundered. “I… That is, I, um.”

                “Perhaps once we return to London I may telephone you?” Mycroft asked, attempting to be smooth. Then, unable to resist showing off, he added- “Or you could simply tell me the name of the bakery you work at.”

                “Like you need the name of any bakery in London, you know them all so well.” Sherlock muttered. Mycroft elbowed him as covertly as possible, swearing revenge. Possibly in the form of a much-needed haircut.

                “Ah, yeah, here,” Greg dug in his pocket for a moment and held out his hand. “Gimme your hand.” His strong fingers were pleasant as he scribbled his number on Mycroft’s suddenly over-sensitive skin. “Worst case scenario, get yourself arrested. I’ll be there.” He chuckled.

                “If you do not cease your disgusting flirtations, I shall go home without you.”

                “ _I_ drove you here, Sherlock, you shall wait as long as I please. I’m rather enjoying my flirtations.” He tipped what he hoped was a playful look at Gregory, who grinned.

                “So’m I, believe me, but I gotta get the girls home. Sooner rather than later. I’ll see you ‘round, yeah?”

                “Absolutely.” They shook hands- rather lingeringly, Mycroft was pleased to note, and parted ways.

                “That was pathetic.” Sherlock sniffed as he climbed into Mycroft’s car.

                “Shut up, Sherlock, you’re twelve.” Mycroft countered with unusual cheerfulness.

                “Bet I’ve kissed more people than you,” the pre-teen muttered sulkily.

                “While that is true, it is also unfortunate and easily accomplished.” Mycroft didn’t hesitate to admit. He’d never been fond of physical contact or liked anyone enough to kiss them- but he was more than willing to picture kissing Gregory. The aspiring cop had been… charming.

                “You’re thinking about him so loudly.” Sherlock observed, staring at him disgustedly. “It’s awful.”

                “I find it pleasant and calming.” Mycroft asserted, smiling placidly.

                “Kill me,” His younger brother groaned.

                “Not unless necessary.”


	2. Back in London

                Mycroft sat alone in his flat, looking aimlessly around it and doing his very best not to call Gregory. He’d been back in London for all of two hours, and it was the middle of the night and he may not know much about calling someone for a date but he did know that you did not call someone you had only met once at one in the morning. Just because you could not sleep did not mean that they too suffered from insomnia.

                _Call him in the morning._

                _No, no, he’ll be at work._

_Tomorrow evening then._

_That’s much too long._

                Mycroft tossed his phone onto his desk and sighed to himself, flipping open a manila folder and attempting to work. It was dull work, the kind of work that would have bored even a far lesser mind than his, but it was something to do for the time being. When he could not conceivably do anything else. Things would be easier when his flatmate was home; she kept hours nearly as odd as his own. And she was someone to talk to. They’d met while working at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and because Anthea had since begun working instead in the offices of Parliament, they had plenty to discuss. Plenty of non-top-secret things to discuss, that was; Mycroft found nothing more tedious than his lack of security clearance. Of course, Anthea’s was even lower than his own- she was only sixteen, and though she’d been emancipated and undergone all the usual steps to get to the position she now held, many of the adults in government still treated her like a child. This was quite foolish of them, Mycroft thought. He remembered what it was like to be ahead of the curve, too young to be doing what he was doing and constantly reminded of that fact. It wasn’t so bad now- plenty of people closer to his age interned in the government. He was less obvious now.

                “’M home!” Anthea screamed, slamming the door.

                Knowing what reaction she wanted, Mycroft quirked a smile and sighed loudly. “Can you be more quiet?”

                “I cannot,” She answered, flinging her coat and purse together onto the couch.  “Long day.”

                “Ah. Well. You are home now.”

                Anthea smiled. “Home. Can’t believe I live here. With you.”

                “It is something of an adventure to emulate adulthood.”

                “Except insurance forms,” Anthea sighed, sinking onto the couch, shoving her things out of the way. Mycroft walked to the sitting area and took a seat in his chair. “Those are a bitch.”

                “Agreed.”

                “How was your day?” Anthea asked, rolling her shoulders and blinking slowly over at Mycroft.

                “Very long.”

                “What were you doing?”

                “Attempting not to call Gregory.”

                Anthea grinned. “And how did that go?”

                “I was successful, though not happily so.”

                “You sound so stuffy.” She cracked her neck and grinned at him with her head sideways, hair falling across her face.

                “ _You_ sound so casual.” He accused back.

                “I spent all day being shushed. ‘Girls are expected to be seen not heard.’” She quoted with a wrinkled nose and an obnoxious voice. “I’m a _woman_ ,” she growled.

                “You are,” Mycroft agreed. “And despite what those sexist _arseholes_ think of you, you will succeed.”

                “I’m going to be so great _they_ get shushed in _my_ office,”

                “Excellent plan,” he smiled at the thought.  “I will look forward to that day. Perhaps you will allow me to pose as your assistant in order to bask in your glory.”

                “Deal.” She reached up to drag her makeup off, smearing it across her face. Somehow she still looked gorgeous, and Mycroft was a little jealous of that. “But now. Let’s not talk about grumpy old men all night. Tell me more about Greg. He sounds hot.” Mycroft had already called her twice.

                “He _was_ …”

                “So did you talk to him again?”

                “No, Anthea, I spent the whole day trying not to call him.”

                “Mycroft! When people are _hot_ and they _like_ us, we _call them_. Come on.”

                “It’s nearly two in the morning!”

                “Oh, is it?” She looked around, craning her neck to see the clock. “Damn. Okay. Call him tomorrow.”

                “I plan to. But tomorrow is so far away.”

                “I understand.” She reached over to pat his arm, pouting cutely. Why was everything she did so cute? _Maybe she could give me lessons before I see Gregory again…_ “We’ll pass the time together.”

                “Thank you, Anthea, but that isn’t necessary. You’re going to realize how tired you are in less than ten minutes.”

                “What about we watch the news?”

                He sighed, rolling his eyes slightly. “Not particularly challenging.”

                “Mycroft Holmes, you are _not_ doing another experiment in this flat whilst I am alive.”

                “Well, that’s unfortunate. I did very much enjoy your company. Would you like to approve your eulogy before I dispatch you?”

                Anthea smiled. “Someday, those words are going to be _terrifying._ ”

                He sighed. “Look at me, Anthea. Do I look terrifying?”

                She pursed her lips, considering, and then leaned forward with a smile, resting her elbows on her knees. “It’s _dangerously_ sexy when you slick your hair back.”

                “Noted,” he smiled slightly. “Do the suits help?”

                “Very much. I like the grey ones.”

                “Thank you.”

                Anthea nodded sweepingly, taking her hair down. “Hey Mycroft, what do you know about-” She cut herself off with a yawn. “Never mind. Tired.” She heaved herself off the couch and ambled slowly across the room, Mycroft following her with his hands shoved in his pockets, taking calculated steps just behind her. “I’m going to bed, Mycroft.”

“I am aware of that fact, Anthea,” he sniffed.

“Why are you following me, then?”

                “Anthea. Ask me your question. I want to know. I probably do know. I probably know everything about the answer.”

                “God you’re wound up,”

                “Yes!” He conceded frustratedly. He was almost never so manic.

                “Go to sleep!”

                He paused. “Actually, that’s a good idea. Time goes more quickly when I am unaware of it. Thank you.”

                “Dream about Greg.”

                “If you insist.”

                The next morning, they discussed normal subjects; work, traffic patterns, places the city would have cameras if it were even halfway competent. Work was as tedious as ever- possibly worse, knowing that at the end of the day he could call Lestrade and find out for certain whether the older man had been interested in him. It was almost humiliating to feel as over-eager as he did, but when he began to voice this opinion to Anthea when he picked her up after work she shushed him and glared with a force that reminded him of his mother.

                “Call him.” Anthea said as soon as the door to their flat had closed behind them.

                Mycroft didn’t wait to be told twice.

                “Greg Lestrade.”

                “Gregory. It’s Mycroft.”

                “Awesome! I almost didn’t think you were going to call me,” Mycroft would have bet money that the older boy was smiling, and he could hear friendly chattering in the back ground.

                “Are you busy? I could telephone at another time…”

                “I’d actually rather see you. If you’re cool with that.”

                “What, now?” Mycroft glanced at the clock reflexively, surprised.

                “Well, I guess it’s a bit late, now, you’ve probably got plans for the night- hey, no, _no,_ go on!- sorry about that, Beth tried to grab my phone.”

                “No apology necessary. I would very much like to see you again as well.”

                “Great. Tell you what, come by the bakery tomorrow morning and we’ll set up a proper first date.”

                Mycroft blushed. “Excellent.”

                “Do you need me to tell you the name of the place?”

                “I am almost tempted to prove myself by finding it on my own.”

                “No need to prove yourself, but let’s make it a challenge.”

                “How so? I already know that it is on Knightsbridge, surely given enough time I will find it. There are a number of methods I could employ.”

                “Just for that, do it. See you around eight.”

                Mycroft smiled into the phone, ignoring the gleeful looks Anthea was shooting him. “Excellent. I shall see you at eight, Gregory.”

                “I’m looking forward to it,” There was another bout of laughter from the other end of the line before it cut off.

                “Well?” Anthea asked excitedly. “Eight? Eight when? Tomorrow night?”

                “Tomorrow morning. He wishes to arrange our first date proper in person.”

                “That’s cute,” she smiled. “What’re you doing at eight tomorrow morning then?”

                “I have been challenged to find the bakery where he works by eight o’clock. Would it be showing off if I did it by seven thirty?”

                “Do it,” Anthea encouraged.

                “Perhaps it would be strange to show up a half an hour early.”

                “No. No, don’t get all political about this, he’s just a cute guy who wants to see you. Show up early with that smug look you get and order coffee at seven thirty.”

                “You know I don’t drink coffee.”

                “So get tea you pretentious bastard, only do it early and with that high-and-mighty look,”

                “Why are you so set upon my facial expression?”

                “Because it’s a _hot_ facial expression,”

                “Anthea,” he admonished.

                “It’s just the truth,” she replied brightly.

               

                Mycroft found the bakery easily by seven thirty, and managed to politely wait until seven thirty five before he went in and ordered tea from the girl at the register. He didn’t see Lestrade, but it was logical to assume he was on the premises- even if he wasn’t waiting at the counter. _He wouldn’t be,_ Mycroft reminded himself as he took a seat at one of the small tables in the establishment. _You’re nearly a half an hour early._

                “Hey, Mycroft!” Gregory’s cheerful voice sounded from behind the counter, and Mycroft turned to look.

                “Good morning, Gregory,” he answered, unsure whether he ought to stand.

                The question was settled when Lestrade rounded the counter and took a seat across from Mycroft. “How are you today?”

                “Quite well, thank you. And yourself?”

                “I’m great, yeah. You clean up nice,” he complimented, and Mycroft looked down at himself reflexively. He had to be to work soon, and was dressed accordingly- Gregory had only seen him in the T-shirt he’d worn to the concert.

                “Ah, thank you. You look…” _Dashing. Appealing. Like a dream._ “Wonderful yourself.”

                “Thanks,” Greg smiled brightly. There was a momentary pause, and then he asked, “D’you wanna go out dancing?”

                “I have never been out dancing.” Mycroft admitted, setting his tea down.

                With a decisive nod, Greg replied, “Well that settles it, I’m taking you.”

                “Alright.” Mycroft smiled slightly.

                “Trade or Heaven?”

                “I assume those are clubs.”

                “Yeah. Hey, if you’ve never heard of either, then it doesn’t matter which we go to, yeah?”

                “Yes.”

                “But you’re good with dancing?”

                “I can dance.”

                Greg’s smile was like another light source. “Great. I’ll pick you up. Tomorrow at seven?”

                “Alright,” Mycroft smiled shyly across the table. “I suppose you’ll need my address.”

                “That would probably be helpful. I don’t think I can pull your tricks,” he laughed.

                Mycroft dismissed the idea with a casual wave of his hand. Even Sherlock still wasn’t very good at tracking down specific locations. “I will write it down.” He reached into his suit pocket for his pen.

                “Thanks. So what’re your plans for today?”

                “Nothing overly fascinating. Work and a few errands. I believe Anthea is going out with friends, so I have the flat to myself.”

                “Nice. Anthea’s your flatmate?”

                “Yes. And Beth is your drums player.”

                Gregory’s mouth hung open for a moment, and Mycroft worried that he’d taken the deductions too far. He thought he’d learned to walk a better line than that, but apparently the temptation to show off for Greg was stronger than he’d accounted for. “Yeah. Yeah, I almost forgot, Beth tried to take my phone last night. We were at a gig. Wait, you know I’m in a band?”

                “It isn’t that difficult a deduction,” Mycroft deflected, looking away to take a drink of tea.

                “That’s so cool,” Greg complimented with a smile. “Wow.”

                Mycroft didn’t know what to say. True, he was not in the habit of shouting negative deductions like his brother did, but he still only rarely received compliments about the ability. He smiled tentatively. “Thank you.”

                “Listen, I’d really rather talk more, but I have to get back to work. I’ll see you tomorrow night, yeah?”

                Folding the slip of paper upon which he’d written his address, Mycroft handed it over politely. “Definitely.”

                “I can’t wait,” Greg looked up at the clock on the wall. “Seven forty-five.” He laughed, shaking his head. “You’re something else.”

                “Thank you.”


	3. Chapter 3

            The doorbell rang at six fifty seven. Mycroft was incredibly relieved that he didn’t have to wait an additional three minutes. He tried to compose himself as he walked across the room, but Anthea- previously lounging against the kitchen counter- beat him to the door.

            “You must be Greg.”

            “Yes ma’am.” Mycroft could hear the casual grin in his voice and couldn’t help his own tiny smile.

             Anthea turned around dramatically, smiling at Mycroft cheekily. “He called me ma’am. You can keep him.”

            “So I’ve got the room mate seal of approval, eh?” Greg chuckled, stepping in behind Anthea. She shut the door, then took out her phone and started texting. “Hey, Mycroft,” his smile turned slightly bashful, and Mycroft smiled in return.

             “Hello, Gregory.” He wasn’t sure of the protocol he ought to follow, whether he should shake Greg’s hand or engage him in conversation or simply follow him down and out dancing. “You look wonderful this evening.” It was true. The older man had opted for black jeans and a tight black shirt, a combination which threatened to make Mycroft swoon.

             “You look… more casual than you did at the bakery.” Greg stuffed his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, flashing again that incredibly white smile.

              Mycroft ducked his head slightly, blushing lightly. “I thought that would be appropriate. I looked up the clubs you mentioned. I don’t believe I own any fishnet.”

              Greg laughed at the terrible joke, making Mycroft’s soul light up. “Not sure we’d make it out dancing if you did.” He winked. “And you look great.”

              Reflexively looking down at himself to hide his blush, eyebrows rising slightly, Mycroft noticed as though for the first time that he had on a simple collared light blue shirt and light brown trousers. “Thank you.”

             “Get out.” Anthea opened the door again, pointing out without looking up from her phone. “There will be no going the way you are going whilst I am in for the night and trying to sleep.”

              Mycroft flushed scarlet, and Greg looked down with a mildly chagrined smile. “Right. Erm. You ready, Mycroft?”

              “Y-yes.”

              Greg ducked back through the door, waving distractedly at Anthea. Mycroft nodded at her as they passed, and she winked broadly. He did his best not to let his embarrassment show, but given that he’d never been on a date before- much less with anyone as attractive as Gregory- he wasn’t sure how well he succeeded. Anthea stood in the doorway, speaking to them without looking away from her phone screen. “Mycroft. If you plan to engage in coitus, do not return to this flat.” She shut the door behind them.

              “S-she hasn’t had more than four hours of sleep per night for eleven days.” Mycroft explained awkwardly.

              “Oh, god,” Lestrade’s eyebrows rose. “Okay. I would hate to wake her up. Note taken.”

              Mycroft’s stutter was overwhelming, which may have been a good thing as he had no idea what he was trying to say.

              “Let’s go dancing,” Greg smiled, resting his hand lightly at the small of Mycroft’s back. It was transcendental.

              “Excellent.” He kicked himself for his sudden lack of conversational ability, but thankfully Gregory had something to say.

              “I can’t believe you’ve never been out dancing before,” Greg said as he opened the passenger door for Mycroft. “What did you do in Uni?”

              “I was a teenager in Uni. Much too young to be going out.”

              “I’ve gotta say, you hardly look old enough now. Mind if I ask-”

              “Nineteen next week.” Mycroft supplied helpfully.

              “Oh,” Greg’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Okay. Wow. I’m incredibly intimidated right now,” he smiled slightly to soften the statement. “I mean, you looked young, but I was kind of hoping it was a genetics thing.”

               “Does my age bother you?”

               “No, not at all. Just surprises me. And makes me feel like you’re way out of my league,” he darted a glance at Mycroft. “I mean, I’ll be twenty one in a couple months. It’s just two years, but a lot can happen in two years. And you’re apparently completely brilliant and some kind of prodigy.”

               “Are you really so surprised?” Mycroft challenged, giving Greg what he hoped was a flirtatious look.

               The older man laughed. “Guess not. You’ve got a look about you- maybe not a _look_ \- there’s something about you that just screams intelligence. Audible even at that terrible concert.”

                Mycroft blushed. “Thank you.”

                “Sure. Hey, c’mon, we’re here. Let’s dance. And maybe have a couple drinks.”

                “Sounds wonderful.”

                They entered a loud, somewhat dimly lit club, and Mycroft began to reassess his ‘wonderful’ statement- he would never willingly enter any establishment remotely resembling this one. When he glanced at Lestrade, however, the man was already smiling and moving subtly to the beat of the pulsing music - which made the entire endeavor instantaneously worthwhile. Mycroft looked around, cataloguing, and then Greg led him to a table in a corner, where he could at least hear the man speak.

                “So what do you think?”

                “It is… novel. And not uninteresting.”

                Greg chuckled, his white teeth catching a strange pinkish light from the dance floor. “You want a beer or something?”

                “That would be acceptable,” Mycroft answered, deeming it wise to be at least slightly inebriated- if he were sober all night, the behavior of the other patrons of the club would likely become grating quite rapidly.

                “Great! Be right back,” Greg moved off, bobbing effortlessly through the crowd. Mycroft watched him go, admiring the easy motion.

                He was back only moments later, setting two glasses on the table. “Here you are, sir,” he winked.

                “Thank you Gregory,” Mycroft smiled, taking an uncertain sip. It wasn’t that he’d never drunk beer before, it was just that he avoided it as a general rule.

                “So, what else can you tell me about me?”

                Wary of an… _unfavorable_ reaction, Mycroft hesitated. “You’re honestly asking?”

                “Yeah, yeah, I wanna know,” Lestrade’s smile was just as bright as always. “C’mon.”

                “You’re in a band.” Mycroft reiterated, finding his footing.

                “Yep,”

                “You sing, but you can also play guitar.”

                Greg nodded confirmation, appearing as unruffled as if Mycroft had been repeating back information Gregory had told him before. “And do, on occasion, when Michael bails out.”

                “Your family recently moved away from Weston-super-mare,”

                “Thank god, or I never would’ve met you,” He smiled. “Accent gives it away, right?”

                “That, and the fact that I could not possibly have missed you had we grown up in the same place.”

                “Smooth,” Greg complimented with a slight toast. “But go on, impress me.”

                “You do not like the coworker with whom you share counter space in the bakery, though you do like the DI whose division you intern in, you take the stairs rather than the elevator, you wash your ties by hand but not your socks, you smoke on stressful occasions, you have a habit of reading the paper on your walk to work, blue is your favorite color.” He stopped there, due to the fact that Greg’s mouth was hanging open. “Tell me, are you impressed?”

                “Very. Very, very impressed. And a little bit at a loss.” He took an awkward drink of beer. “I know next to nothing about you,”

                “There isn’t much to know.”

                “Oh go on, there must be. Guy who can do that? Come on.” He smiled. “Tell me one of your hobbies,”

                “Worrying about my brother,” Mycroft replied with a sarcastic smile. “No, honestly… I paint. A bit. It’s not good.”

                “I want to see.” Greg declared. “Next date, I see your painting. You hear me sing.”

                “Please tell me you don’t force all of your dates to share artistic passions on the second date.”

                “Oh, no. Only cute government men,” He winked.

                “In that case, I am flattered, and I accept your… ‘offer.’”

                “Yeah, it was a bit forceful,” he looked mildly chagrined. “How about this, next date- may I see your art please, and would you like to hear me sing?”

                Mycroft laughed. “Very much so, yes,”

                “Great. Playing next week. I’ll write down the details before you go. Maybe we could… go to dinner beforehand? Like proper restaurant dinner?”

                “Wonderful.” Mycroft smiled. “And will the show be somewhere…” He nodded covertly around them.

                “If you’re asking whether you’ll be okay to kiss me when I jump off stage, the answer’s yes,” Greg winked. “Though I’d prefer you didn’t wait that long,”

                Mycroft blushed. “Noted,” he answered diplomatically, looking down quickly.

                “Come on, we came here to dance. Let’s dance,” Greg’s smile was too bright to resist, and Mycroft followed him onto the dance floor without question. 

                Unsurprisingly, Greg was an excellent dancer. Mycroft found himself a bad judge of his own skills, but could deduce from his date’s demeanor that he was at least passable. Greg seemed to be enjoying himself, which pleased Mycroft more than it was reasonable to be pleased by the happiness of someone one had essentially just met. He’d not spent ten total hours with Gregory and yet found himself smitten. If this level of attachment continued to increase linearly, he would be doomed within a week.

                “You look thoughtful,” Greg spoke over the music, slipping closer to Mycroft as they danced (under the pretense of starting a conversation, which was an amusing but unnecessary obfuscation).

                “Apologies,” he tried to clear his mind and enjoy dancing- it was actually not bad. And dancing with Gregory was honestly quite fun.

                “What were you thinking about?”

                Mycroft paused. “Linear functions,”

                Greg laughed. “Okay. Not the answer I was expecting.”

                “I think you’ll find that I rarely give an answer you are expecting,” Mycroft teased.

                “Going to keep me guessing? I like that.” The older man’s hand darted out to rest on Mycroft’s hip for a moment, and when the pressure ceased Mycroft had to actively remember how to move that leg. “Are you having fun?”

                “V-very much,” he reassured, at a slight loss for further appropriate words.

                “I’m glad,” Greg smiled, and it widened when the song changed, evidently recognizing it. “Oh, this is a good one.”

                Mycroft gave himself the world’s fastest pep-talk and moved a step closer to Greg, resting his hands on the other man’s hips. “Then we ought to do it justice, don’t you think?”

                “Please,” Lestrade grinned, looking at Mycroft with a fascinating (and beautiful) mixture of pleasant emotions. He was excited, happy, intrigued, and fond. _Already fond of me._ Mycroft smiled. They danced seamlessly, but fairly casually; Mycroft wasn’t the kind of person to grind on a first date, no matter how cute and seemingly perfect said date was. Still, there was an energy between them he found himself swept up in. Gregory’s gaze seemed to have become locked on his face, and it also seemed to be rising in intensity. Unable to look away, Mycroft stared back with a sense that something grand was about to happen.

                His intuition had not failed him before, and it kept its flawless track record. When the song Gregory had liked was about to end, the last beats mixing with the beginning of the next track, Lestrade leaned slowly closer, no longer dancing. Mycroft took his cue and stood still, heart racing. When their lips touched it was somehow sweet, even standing in the middle of the loud club with strangers on all sides- Mycroft’s first kiss was wonderful.

                “Okay?” Gregory checked, and Mycroft opened his eyes to find the other man watching him considerately.

                “Wonderful,” Mycroft affirmed, taking Greg’s hands in his own and resuming their dancing with a smile.

                “You say that a lot,” Greg observed slightly awkwardly, obviously looking for a topic of conversation.

                “It is often true, around you,”

                Ducking his head slightly, Gregory smiled. “I’m really glad.”

                “As am I.”


End file.
